Tales from the Metro 2

Today, at Vanderkindere, where all tales from the metro seem to begin, someone asked me whether this was where she could catch the 25.

– Le 25? 
– Ouais.
– Il y a un 25? 
– Merde.

After further investigation, it turned out that there is a line 25, but it kind of goes round the opposite side of the city. She headed off, grumpily phoning whoever had given her shoddy directions in the first place.

Once safely onto tram no. 3 (which does indeed stop at Midi), I was serenaded by the delightful busker who seems to only know Sway (and then, only the first two verses). He sings in what I think is the accent of a Spaniard who doesn’t actually speak English:

Dancewime, maikemeswaiy,
Holmecloss, swaiymemorrrrre

On the plus side, he has a guitar, not an accordion.

I couldn’t find a video of him, so here is a guy in Antwerp playing a horn violin, which is apparently a real instrument. There’s someone who does this on the metro in Brussels, too – maybe the same guy. I don’t look. If you make eye contact, you pay. I think that’s how it works.

I share the bus journey home with a postman and his little cart of letters. I like to assume that he has a really big route, and wasn’t just heading off to Flagey to dump them in the lake. I’m guessing he avoided having to buy two tickets (one for the cart) by hopping on the back of the bus which is VERY ILLEGAL, as we were reminded by the angry driver on several occasions. We are also now aware that THE BUS HAS PRIORITY WHEN PULLING OUT, NON??? PUTAIN DE MERDE!!!

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